


Christmastime is Here

by Amelia_Clark



Series: 30 Day Cheesy Trope Challenge [21]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bunker Fic, Christmas Fluff, Confused Dean, First Kiss, Human Castiel, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mistletoe, bi erasure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-21
Updated: 2014-12-21
Packaged: 2018-03-02 13:34:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2813828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amelia_Clark/pseuds/Amelia_Clark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas drains his fifth cup of coffee; after millennia of wakefulness, it's hard for him to drag his human ass out of bed, and it’s not even a little cute. The laziness, that is. Not the ass. "We're not Christian, Dean. Why would we celebrate Christmas?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Christmastime is Here

**Author's Note:**

> **#24: Mistletoe**  
>  Because the real Christmas miracle would be Dean's taking baby steps towards accepting his own sexuality.

"Hey," says Dean over coffee one mid-December morning, "you guys wanna put up Christmas decorations?"

Sam (who's drinking green tea, because of course he is) frowns. "Why?"

"I dunno. I mean, we have a home now," Dean says, gesturing to the bunker walls around him. "Why not?"

Cas drains his fifth cup of coffee; after millennia of wakefulness, it's hard for him to drag his human ass out of bed, and it’s not even a little cute. The laziness, that is. Not the ass. "We're not Christian, Dean," he says. "Why would we celebrate Christmas?"

"There’s more to Christmas than religion, dude. Presents and trees and spiked eggnog."

Sam looks at him, still skeptical. "This is your nesting thing, huh?"

"Sure, if that's what you wanna call it. I've got a home, I've got my family here with me"—Cas looks up at this, the ghost of a smile hovering on his lips—"sue me if I wanna celebrate that."

"I understand that sentiment," Cas says gravely, and they're doing that staring thing, falling into each other's eyes until Sam coughs.

"All right, let's do it," says Sam. "Finish breakfast, I'll look up the nearest Wal-Mart."

*******

Once they get there, Sam begs off to go restock on ammo and groceries, leaving Dean and Cas to brave the glittering red-and-green aisles of holiday decor. Dean tells himself he doesn't mind—Sam’s got no childhood loyalty to Christmas, and the last time they celebrated was the year Dean went to Hell, so it's not surprising he's indifferent.

Not that Dean has clear memories of his early Christmases. Like most of his life before the fire, it's a blur of impressions: the scent of pine from the tree and the wreath on the front door. The taste of the cookies Mom made every year, ginger and molasses and orange. He thinks he can recall her singing carols with him while she baked, but for all he knows he picked up that detail from a commercial and made it his own.

The aisle's big enough for them to walk abreast, Cas's hand resting lightly on the handle of the cart a few inches from Dean's own. Dean grips the handle tight to keep himself from closing the distance. "So," he says. "You want a tree?"

"It seems to be expected," Cas says, indicating a large sign next to them; beneath the words "Merry and Bright!" there's a picture of a laughing family in sweaters, mom and dad and 2.5 kids. The father’s lifting up a little girl to put an ornament on the tree. 

"I hate to get a fake one,” Dean says with a shrug, “but it took an hour to get here, that’s a long way to drive with a tree on the roof. And the bunker's got those high ceilings, we should get a big one. Taller than Sam, at least."

The artificial trees are pricey, though, and while Dean's drawn to the ones twice his height, they settle on a seven-footer. Well, Dean does; he keeps asking for Cas's input and getting non-committal answers. "Are you just completely bored?" he asks worriedly.

"Not at all," Cas says, tilting his head in confusion. "I enjoy watching you enjoy yourself."

Dean flushes. "Uh, okay. Well. You too, buddy.” He considers giving Cas a firm, manly pat on the shoulder but decides not to touch him at all. “You should pick out some ornaments you think are pretty, Cas. Figure out what you like."

There's way too much to choose from, and Dean goes for the simple stuff first—gold and silver baubles, candy canes. Then more personal stuff: classic cars, an apple pie, a clown (to mess with Sam). Cas picks up dozens of ornaments and considers each carefully, making odd selections—a glass icicle that resembles an angel blade, a beehive, a cat wearing a Santa hat. He scowls in disgust at the feather-bedecked angels, but insists on a star tree topper with flashing LED lights, which is no less tacky. "It reminds me of the Pleiades," he says. "They were the friendliest constellation." So in the cart it goes.

On the next aisle they pick up three cheap stockings, initialed C, D, and S, and a garland or two. Then Cas holds up a plastic bag with a sprig of dark green in it, a red velvet bow around the stem. "What is this for?"

"Oh," says Dean, "that's mistletoe. It's a thing—you hang it in a doorway or something, and if two people are underneath it at the same time, they're supposed to kiss."

“How odd. This plant is a parasite, Dean,” says Cas, still holding the package. “It’s able to photosynthesize some nutrients on its own, but most species feed off of a host tree, stunting its growth or even killing it. Why would it be used as a symbol of love?”

"So it sucks the life out of the tree it grows on? I dunno, sounds like love to me," Dean quips.

Cas looks at him, his eyes both gentle and challenging. "For you, Dean, I’d say it is rather a lack of love that holds you back."

And Dean's got no idea how to respond to that, so he doesn't. "You want it or not?" he says finally, when it's clear Cas isn't going to keep walking.

"It's not necessary," he says gently, and hangs the bag back on its hook.

"Yeah, sure, since we're not entertaining lady visitors or anything, you're right." Dammit, Dean is pretty sure he's disappointed, though it quickly turns to embarrassment, simmering hot under his skin.

"That's not what I meant, Dean," Cas says, setting his hand back on the cart so his pinkie brushes Dean's. "If you want to kiss me, you should just kiss me."

*******

It's late. The tree's up in the war room, ornaments hung haphazardly—the more so as they work their way through cartons of eggnog and a giant bottle of rum. Even Sam seems to enjoy himself, setting the gaudy star on top of the tree without even standing on tiptoe. There's the Vince Guaraldi Trio on the stereo, there's the cinnamon smell of ready-made pie warming in the oven, and it's nice, dammit.

Or it would be if Dean didn't feel like such a coward. Yeah, he wants to kiss Cas, and yeah, Cas would apparently be fine with it. But the whole thing's confusing, because maybe Cas was genderless when they met, but as a human he's definitely a dude, with dude parts, and Dean's got legions of conquests that prove he's not gay. So why can't he stop thinking about Cas's mouth and his eyes and his...parts? It's confusing, and upsetting, and the eggnog doesn't help. Especially since Cas has a buzz on already, and he keeps edging closer to Dean, like he's daring him to follow through.

"I should get that pie out before it burns," Dean says suddenly, and retreats to the kitchen.

He's pulling out plates and forks when he hears a noise behind him, and he turns to find Cas has followed. "You're not going to do it, are you?" Cas asks, setting down his empty glass.

Dean's first impulse is to claim ignorance, but Cas steps closer and Dean can't speak. "May I, then?" Cas murmurs, brushing his thumb across Dean's bottom lip. Dean's eyes flutter closed, so he can't see his own hand reaching up to slide through Cas's hair.

“Yes,” he whispers into Cas’s mouth, already pressing sweet and soft against his. “Yes.”


End file.
